Whate'er they have suffered and done to obtain;
'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish,
When we hope, when we hope to be happy again.
Pand. Put up, and vanish; they are coming out: What a ferrup, will you play when the dance is done? I say, vanish.
[Exit music.
[Peeping.] Good, i'faith! good, i'faith! what, hand in hand—a fair quarrel, well ended! Do, do, walk 314 him, walk him;—a good girl, a discreet girl: I see she will make the most of him.
Enter Troilus and Cressida.
Troil. Farewell, my life! leave me, and back to bed:
Sleep seal those pretty eyes,
And tie thy senses in as soft a band,
As infants void of thought.
Pand. [Shewing himself.] How now, how now; how go matters? Hear you, maid, hear you; where's my cousin Cressida?
Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle:
You bring me to do ill, and then you jeer me!
Pand. What ill have I brought you to do? Say what, if you dare now?—My lord, have I brought her to do ill?
Cres. Come, come,—beshrew your heart, you'll neither be good yourself, nor suffer others.